The Promises We Make
by Michelle
Summary: Sequel to "Another Day Out West". What happens when everything starts crashing down around Ezra and his new friend?
1. Part One

The Promises We Make  
By Michelle (Mickey)  
  
Disclaimer : No, I don't own them. I have also come to the realization, after much therapy, that I will never own them and the only way I get to be near them is to write these fics. So, before you sue, please remember that I am only vicariously living out my fantasies through these things and that I'm not doing anyone any harm. (And even if you DID sue me, all you'd get is about twenty bucks cash, an extensive mp3 collection, and a dented flute.)  
  
Rating : PG-13  
  
Warning : Deals with a sensitive topic.  
  
Archive : At http://www.geocities.com/michellestandish and http://www.fanfiction.net  
  
Comments : This is the sequel to "Another Day Out West", which can be found at my site : http://www.geocities.com/michellestandish . You might want to read that first if you haven't already, but I don't think it's absolutely necessary to understand the gist of the thing.  
  
Acknowledgments : Wynde, for taking the time to beta-read this monster. I could have never finished it without you! KellyA for giving me a plot (which was lacking severely when I started this), Libby, for telling me when I needed to get off the stupid computer and eat something, and my cat, for sitting on my lap and licking the bottom of the keyboard while I typed. (Which is helpful for some strange reason that I haven't figured out yet.) Oh yeah! I also want to thank the Academy! You love me, you really love me . . .!  
  
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Lobby, the Ritz Hotel  
  
8:15  
  
Ezra checked his pocket watch again, double taking when he saw the time.   
  
"She's never been late," Ezra thought of the young woman he was supposed to dine with this evening. A short, curly haired brunette, not too astonishing in any of her physical features, but with intelligence like a whip. In the four months since her arrival in Four Corners, Ezra had yet to see her arrive late to anything; she was punctual to a fault.  
  
And now, she was over an hour late. Ezra half stood, then sat again, wondering if he should go look for her. She might get angry if he showed up at her room unannounced. Maybe she just forgot, maybe she was just late . . .   
  
Another thought, a memory really, of their first meeting flashed through Ezra's mind. That soul picture guided him from his seat, across the dusty road and into the boarding house where Julian stayed.  
  
"Good evening, Mrs. Pross." he greeted the owner. "Have you by any chance seen Miss Larabee today?"  
  
Mrs. Pross gave the gambler a quick glance, disapproving, like most of the town, of the relationship between the young couple. But she wasn't rude. "I haven't seen her leave the premises since this afternoon Mr. Standish. She's probably still up in her room."  
  
Ezra didn't waste another moment as he raced up the stairs to the small room Chris's sister occupied.   
  
"Julian?" Ezra knocked heavily on the door, more heavily than he would have normally, driven by anxiousness. There was no answer. He rapped again, this time loudening both his voice and his knock.  
  
"Julian? Are you there? It's Ezra." Still no answer. Where was she? As if guided by an unseen hand, Ezra tried the handle, surprised to find it unlocked. If there was one thing ingrained into his system from living in eastern cities, it was that you locked your door. He knew Julian lived in the city for a far longer time than he had.   
  
He pushed the oak door open, the fear building up in his chest. He knew something was wrong. Then he saw the blood on the ground.  
  
His eyes followed the crimson trail to an unmoving form on the floor.  
  
Julian!  
  
"Julian?" He knelt by her still form, praying, hoping that he wasn't too late. He felt for a pulse, like he'd seen Nathan do a thousand times before. In his haste, he couldn't find a beat. Frantically, he turned Julian on her back, looking for a sign that she was still . . . Her chest rose and fell slightly. She was alive.  
  
As Ezra gathered the unconscious body into his arms, still praying that he wasn't too late.  
  
***  
  
"Nathan?" Ezra asked after the healer remained silent for a minute.   
  
Nathan looked up from his pale patient, fingers holding a damp cloth to her forehead. Nathan knew what was wrong with her, Ezra could tell this from years of practice. But he could also tell that Nathan didn't want to say it.  
  
"Ezra, maybe you ought to get Chris for this one." Nathan said solemnly, turning back to the young woman.  
  
Ezra still in shock from finding Julian, was too disconcerted to argue with the healer. He gave a long gaze at her bloodless face before leaving the room in search of her brother. As he hurried down the dusty night street, he glanced at his watch again, trying to gauge where Chris would be at this hour.  
  
8:45  
  
It was hard to believe that only a half-hour had passed since he was sitting alone in the hotel. Every minute that went by seemed like an hour as he'd carried that too still form to the clinic. As he'd watched Nathan check Julian over, he hadn't heard a word that came out of Nathan's mouth. And as he raced to the saloon where he knew Chris would be, he did not notice the stares he was attracting by doing something this out of character.   
  
Ezra pushed open the batwing doors with determination. He scanned the room, eyes falling almost immediately on the black clad figure of his leader, seated at their usual table.  
  
"Chris," he began, out of breath and not caring that he was interrupting what appeared to be an intense card game. In fact, he scarcely noticed the game at all. Ezra took a deep breath before he began again, this time with the eyes of nearly every patron in the saloon on him.  
  
"Chris, it's your sister . . ." it was all he got out before the older man shot from his seat with the same wild look in his eyes Ezra carried.  
  
"Where?" It was all Chris wanted to know. If he could get there in time, maybe this time nothing would happen to his baby sister.  
  
"Nathan's . . ." Once again Ezra was cut off as Chris tore from the saloon at a breakneck pace. The gambler would have been close on his heels had Buck not stopped him.   
  
Ezra, pulled out of his single-mindedness by the unexpected appearances of Buck and Vin, blinked rapidly a few times as he tried to make sense of what the ladies man was asking him.  
  
" . . .happened?" Buck asked, quickly gaining on Chris and Ezra in the fear department. Ezra shook his head, he didn't know what Buck asked him.  
  
"I asked you, what happened." Buck's fists were tangled in Ezra's shirtfront, almost lifting the smaller man off the ground. Vin put a hand on Buck's strained arm.  
  
"Let him down, Buck. Man can't tell you anything if he can't breathe." Buck's eyes lost some of their rage with Vin's calming words as he let go of the expensive silk shirt. Ezra took a deep breath before speaking. Vin was right about the lack of air.  
  
"I don't have any idea. I found her like that . . ." Ezra began, getting cut off. An occurrence rapidly becoming old. It seemed as if he couldn't get a word in edgewise.  
  
"Found her like what? Where?"  
  
"Her room . . .you should go see her. I can't explain." Ezra pushed past the two men blocking his path to the door. He practically ran from the saloon. Buck, close on the gambler's heels, was followed by a confused Vin.  
  
Vin didn't understand until later what happened on the street. In fact he was fairly certain that none of the men, except perhaps Chris, knew why the squabble occurred.  
  
The trio were more than halfway to the clinic, Ezra far in the lead, when Chris came storming out into the street, door slamming behind him. Ezra's heart stopped as he feared the worse. This thought was quickly displaced by mortal fear as Chris ran full force into the younger man, knocking him to the dusty ground.  
  
"' You Goddamn, good for nothing, Southern piece of shit conman!" Chris spat down upon the disoriented gambler.   
  
"Chris I don't . . ." Ezra began.  
  
"Shut up! I don't need to listen to anymore of your lies! I've had it up to here with them. Get this through your thick skull, Standish," Ezra winced at the use of his surname, one very recently replaced in Larabee's vernacular with his first. "If I ever catch you near her again, I will personally see to it that your death is a very painful one."  
  
"I trust you are going to tell me why?" Ezra picked himself up off the road, running his palms across his now dusty apparel.   
  
"Trust? You're asking me about trust?" The words slowly got more and more vehement as his tirade continued. "I trusted you to watch out for my sister. I trusted that you wouldn't hurt her. I trusted you to make sure that no one else hurt her. I trusted that you had changed enough to do this. I trusted you enough to let you continue seeing her long after the talk started because I figured you were just good friends. And then, you go and pull a stunt like this. I should kill you where you stand." Chris's voice became deathly quiet, so only the itinerant gambler could hear his next words. "And trust this. If I ever see you near her again, I will kill you." Ezra didn't doubt these words.  
  
Confused, Ezra only watched as Chris walked back to the clinic, Buck and Vin in his wake. It wasn't the first time these men had shunned him. But something told him that this could very well be the last.  
  
With a long look at Nathan's, Ezra turned and walked back to the saloon. He couldn't help Julian if Chris beat him senseless. And the odds that Larabee would were definitely ones Ezra would bet on. He just hoped she would be okay.   
  
It would be a long night.  
  
***  
  
" . . . had it up to here with them . . ." The voice which initially pierced the warm glow of Dan's drunken mind filled with unmitigated rage. It was enough that Dan, who'd ignored the shouts at first, decided to make his way toward the sound.  
  
The fancy dressed man, he couldn't recall his name, was on the ground, with Larabee towering over him.  
  
" . . . thick skull, Standish . . ." Standish, that was his name. Dan remembered now, a memory tinged with animosity. Two weeks ago he'd lost his entire paycheck in a game with the conman.  
  
Pressing up against a wall, deep in the shadows, Dan made himself less noticeable as he eavesdropped on the group in the street.  
  
" . . . trusted that you wouldn't hurt her . . . should kill you where you stand . . . near her again, I will kill you . . ." Dan only caught snippets of the conversation. He was not so far away that he couldn't hear, but the lowered voice of the blond gunslinger made his effort all that much more difficult.  
  
A shadow crossed in front of him, the forebearer of one of the figures in the moonlit street. Dan ducked further into the alleyway. It was Standish, dust covered, and obviously deep in thought. Whatever passed between the men had the gambler uncharacteristically disconcerted. As Standish moved from his sight, Dan moved slowly back into the light, peeking a head around the corner.  
  
Almost deserted. Except for two men, more of those 'seven', on the porch opening the door to the town's clinic.  
  
His curiosity was piqued. Dan moved suprisingly quick for a man half-inebriated. His route was not as silent as he imagined, but quiet enough that the preoccupied men did not notice their follower.  
  
Dan pressed up against the door. Despite the wall between them, this conversation was easier to discern than the previous one.  
  
The drawl of the Texan sounded first. "What's wrong Nathan?"  
  
A deep voice replied, presumably that of the doctor. "Miscarriage."  
  
The comment was followed by a long silence, and for a split second Dan tensed, preparing for a hasty departure. He relaxed as the discourse continued.  
  
"I'll kill that dirty, no-good . . ."  
  
"Buck." Once again from the Texan, stopping the sentence that was almost sure to continue with even more violent and descriptive expletives.  
  
And suddenly everything sank in. Dan, never the quickest on the draw, leaned back with astonishment.  
  
Standish fathered a child on Larabee's young sister. Dan began to chuckle as he turned back toward the saloon.   
  
The boys were going to love this.  
  



	2. Part Two

Ezra crawled out of his room at noon, rubbing his tired eyes. Though he'd been abed for more than twelve hours, he hadn't slept for more than two of them. And neither provided the respite he so needed. They were filled with visions of death, blood, screams . . .   
  
Ezra shook his head trying to clear the memories from his mind. He walked down the rickety stairs of the tavern that once had been his own. He made his way to the bar, leaning heavily on the wooden surface.  
  
"Miss Recillos if you would be so kind as to pour me a whiskey?" As an after thought. "Leave the bottle."  
  
His head was down, so he did not notice the disapproving stare of the normally jovial bartender, nor did he notice the glares from the few other patrons in the saloon. But he did hear the sarcasm and loathing dripping from Inez's every word as she sat the half empty bottle on the counter top.  
  
"Of course, Mister Standish." The slam of the liquor bottle brought his head up. His eyes followed Inez's retreating form for a confused moment before he grabbed the whiskey. Ezra stared at the amber liquid praying that it would be enough to give him courage and strength, but knowing, deep down, that it wouldn't.  
  
Ezra raised the glass to his lips, but was dissuaded from drinking when Nathan sat down beside him.   
  
"She's doing okay." Nathan began, smiling his thanks at Inez when she sat a glass down in front of him.   
  
"I should hope so." Ezra poured the contents of the glass into his mouth, grimacing as the fiery liquid burned a trail to his stomach.   
  
"Listen, Ezra, I don't know how to say this . . ." Nathan began, taking a moment to take a breath. "I know you aren't the father of that baby . . ."  
  
"Nathan, don't. As far as anyone is concerned, I am." Ezra looked the healer in the eyes as he spoke.  
  
"Ezra, you can't keep this up. Chris is ready to kill you for what he thinks you did!" Nathan hissed.   
  
"Better him hate me for what he perceives is my fault, then know the truth."  
  
"That she was," Nathan looked around at the attention his raised voice was getting and lowered it so only the man beside him could hear. " That she was raped? Ezra, he would understand that there was nothing anyone could have done."  
  
"Would he really, Mr. Jackson?" Ezra looked away. "It's not my decision in any event. I swore I would not tell another soul what happened to her and I intend to keep that promise to her." Ezra swallowed another shot. "Good day Mr. Jackson."  
  
"Ezra . . ." Nathan tried again.  
  
"Good day, Mr. Jackson."   
  
Nathan shot one last exasperated look at the gambler before he left the saloon. If this was the way he wanted it, he could have it.  
  
At the bar, Ezra refilled the glass.  
  
***  
  
Julian awoke, painfully, in Nathan's clinic, a room she was all too familiar with. By her bed, asleep in a rickety old chair, was the sleeping form of her brother. Sprawled out as he was, it was hard not to think of him as a little boy. It brought a smile to Julians lips.   
  
Julian stood carefully, wincing at the pains in her lower abdomen. Her right hand shot out to steady herself on the bedpost as she felt her head swim. A glance to Chris, making sure he was still asleep, she grabbed her dress noting it wasn't the one she'd donned the previous day. Actually, she wasn't even sure it was previous day, but that didn't impede her movements.   
  
Julian dressed quickly, tying the laces on her boots with efficient speed. Pulling her wool shawl around her shoulders, Julian left the small clinic and headed for her room at the boarding house.   
  
It was no easy task. In addition to the sea-sick feeling in her stomach and the nearly overwhelming dizziness, she had to avoid three of her brother's friends on the short trek. Surely if they saw her out in the street, they would order her back to Nathan's where she would be forced to drink some vile concoction and lay down for the next three or four days. She shuddered at the thought.  
  
Julian fished for her key in the pocket of her dress as she walked. It was when she made it across the street that she first noticed something was amiss. Mothers, walking with their children, usually so kind to her, forcibly moved their child across the street. Men who had never dared glance in her direction due to her connections, stared unabashedly at her. Disapproving gazes looked back at her from every once kind face.   
  
Julian, bemusedly, entered the boarding house where she stayed. Miss Pross, who'd never been anything but civil to her, ignored Julian's greeting altogether. Her brow furrowed in confusion as she walked the steps to her room. What was going on here?   
  
She flung open the door to her room, surprised to find everything in order. With the way people had been acting to her today, she would not have been shocked if Miss Pross kicked her out of the house.  
  
Julian sat down on her bed and began to sob. She wished Ezra were here right now.  
  
***  
  
Ezra on the other hand, deep into his bottle of whiskey, was wishing that he'd never agreed to stay in this backwater town.  
  
"All they ever do is laugh at me." He muttered, finishing off another shot. "I never do anything right. If I don't show up for ONE thing, they go and think I've run out on 'em again." Ezra hunched over the drink, suddenly not feeling sturdy enough to sit up straight.   
  
Inez, cleaning glasses with an off-color rag, looked at the gambler worriedly. She couldn't remember a time when Ezra had drank so much. But what could she do? Ask him about it? The only person he ever talked to was Larabee's younger sister, and she was up at Nathan's suffering from Ezra's . . . actions right now. Inez glowered, suddenly recalling why she was mad at him in the first place.  
  
Ezra tossed another shot down his throat. Or perhaps it would be more apt to say, down his shirt front. The amber fluid now stained the expensive imported silk Ezra was always so proud of.   
  
He didn't as much as blink before pouring a shot to replace it.   
  
Inez put the glass she was holding down on the counter. Scoundrel or not, she would be damned if she would let that man pass out in her bar.   
  
"Come on, Senor Standish." Inez put on arm across his back. "I think you've had enough. You've been drinking all day. Let me help you to your room." She tried with all her considerable strength to get Ezra moving. He was having none of it.  
  
"What?" his voice was uncharacteristically loud, the Southern accent veritably rippling through his words. Patrons across the saloon turned to stare. "Cain't 'ave a drunk in 'ere? Or's it sumpin' else?" The last word was slurred. Inez knew he was very far into his cups. He continued. "Cain't 'ave a man in 'ere that would do sumpin' like that to a liddle girl, right?" Ezra shoved her helping arm away violently. "I don' need your 'elp." He stood and began walking shakily toward the batwing doors. "Yours er anyone else's."   
  
Ezra, somehow not falling flat on his face, managed to exit the saloon with a modicum of his dignity left. He walked blindly across the street, not sure exactly where his feet were taking him.  
  
***  
  
Julian's self-pitying tears were finally abating when the knock came at the door. She hastily wiped a hand across her eyes before heading for the locked entrance. She knew without looking that it was either her brother or one of his nosy friends. She flung open the door ready with a biting remark about how she could take care of herself.   
  
"Why can't you . . ." Julian stopped mid-sentence, shocked. "Ezra?"   
  
At least she thought it was Ezra. His hair and clothes were a mess, it looked like he'd forgotten to shave, and he positively reeked of whiskey.   
  
"Ezra?" She asked again of the figure in her doorway, who was leaning heavily on the door jamb.   
  
"Ha-yee, Goo-lee-ann." his words were drawn out, and his eyes weren't focusing on much of anything, but it was him alright.  
  
"Ezra, what are you doing here? How did you get up here?" She helped him into the room, leading him to take a seat on the bed,   
  
"Walked." Then he fell backward, sprawling out across the down comforter.   
  
"I realize that, but . . ."  
  
Ezra's mumblings grew louder, causing her to listen. "Your brother jus' can' seem to think that I am innocent when it comes to your welfare . . ."   
  
So that's what it was! Chris thought Ezra had fathered the child she'd miscarried. Julian, not for the first time, wondered how Chris could be so blind to the truth about Ezra. What had he done to deserve such bias? Julian looked down on the now snoring gambler in her bed. She sighed and rolled her eyes before busying herself with the task of removing his well-worn boots. If he was going to pass out in her room, the least he could do would be take his shoes off before he did it, she thought, tugging with all her strength.  
  
Julian pulled a thin blanket over Ezra's sleeping figure. "Goodnight, Ezra." She said, then lowered her voice. "Good night Julian, my dear. Thank you for allowing me the use of your bed." She returned her voice to normal. "Oh, that's no problem Ezra. It's nothing."  
  
Then she put her head in her hands. When she'd wished Ezra was here, she's meant awake and cognizant, not passed out, and suffering from her forced promises.  
  
God's sense of humor never ceased to figure out ways to annoy her.  
  
***  
  
Chris sat in the saloon trying to ignore the comments swarming about him. Upon appearing in the establishment, the steady hum of conversation had dulled, indicating to him the major topic of conversation among its patrons.   
  
How the hell they'd found out in the first place was a mystery to him. If he ever found the son of a bitch . . .  
  
" . . . Larabee girl for a toss in the hay myself . . ."  
  
" . . . Up there with him now "tending" his wounds . . . "  
  
That was it; he couldn't stand it any longer. It was bad enough when the talk had been speculation and not spoken outright in his presense. At least then he could pretend it didn't go on. Despite her current feelings toward him, Julian was his sister and he'd be damned if anyone would drag her name through the dirt like this. Chris slammed his glass down on the table, stood, and glared at the men who dared to meet his gaze. Words, unable to express themselves coherently, hung a warning in the air.  
  
Stalking out of the crowded room, the doors swung violently in his wake. Chris took a deep breath of the early evening air.  
  
"You're out of there early."   
  
Chris turned toward the feminine voice behind him. Mary, shawl clutched tight about her shoulders, stood two feet behind him.  
  
"And you're out late." By this hour, Mary was usually home. He paused, allowing her to catch up with him.   
  
"I'm printing the newspaper tomorrow. I'm taking a break before I finish setting the press." Mary allowed him to walk her along the wooden sidewalk.  
  
They walked in companionable silence for a few minutes until Mary spoke.  
  
"I've heard some . . . disturbing things about your sister."  
  
Chris paused for a split second, almost imperceptibly, before asking, "Yeah?"  
  
"People think maybe she should go back. Back east. To where she came from."   
  
Chris halted dead in his tracks this time and whirled to face the blond editor. "What?" Chris was incredulous. He could understand it when Mary said the same about the prostitutes coming to town. But she knew Julian. She talked to Julian, ate with her, laughed with her for crissakes. They were friends. "People? Or you?"  
  
"Mr. Larabee, I . . . it may be for the best . . ."  
  
"For the best?" Chris shook his head at her. "To make her go and live with our aunt? The same aunt that never gave a damn about anything but the money I sent her?" Chris turned away from the woman. "Forget it." He muttered, stepping from the sidewalk and started on his way down the street.   
  
Mary, still on the walkway, pulled the wool shawl tighter about her shoulders, the air suddenly chilling her to the bone. Looking at the black clad man stumbling down the street, she let out a sigh.   
  
"It may be for the best . . ." she whispered.  
  
***  
  
Five men sat in the bar watching as their leader stood and left the saloon.   
  
"What was that about?" JD asked, sipping from his glass.  
  
The four other men turned and faced the young man with the same look on their faces.   
  
JD looked around the table, comprehension dawning suddenly. "Oh."  
  
"Don't see how it's any of their business." Buck commented with an almost religious fervor; each word consecutively louder.  
  
"People gossip with great fervor when it does not involve their own." Josiah's gaze roamed the crowd as he spoke, looking for the stares that would predictably fall upon them.   
  
"People wouldn't have reason to talk if that Southern son of a bitch had his hands to himself." Buck's words fell violently from his lips. Much like Larabee, Buck fought the urge to kill Ezra outright.  
  
"Sorta like the pot callin' the kettle black, ain't it Buck?"  
  
Buck whipped around in his seat to look at Vin. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"   
  
"Jus' sayin' that you might wanna look more carefully at your own actions 'fore you condemn Ezra's."   
  
"You no good . . ." Buck lunged across the table at Tanner, hands extended. Josiah stood, quickly putting himself between the two men, restraining Buck with all his might.  
  
"Settle down Brother Wilmington. It does her no good to fight with Vin." Josiah sighed with relief when he felt Buck relax in his grip. Buck, stepping back from the burly man, straightened his jacket. He leaned down, grabbing his glass of beer and swigged it down. Dropping the glass back on the table, Buck stared at Vin with a gleam in his eye, before exiting the saloon in much the same manner as his long time friend.  
  
Nathan, silent across the table, watched all of this with a heavy heart. He wanted to tell them the truth, truly he did. But a promise was a promise.  



	3. Part Three

When Ezra awoke it was dark, his head felt like a herd of buffalo decided to make it their stomping ground, and he had no idea where he was. It was a feeling altogether uncomfortable given his dreams. All that he could recall from them were the typical images of blood everywhere, the excruciating pain, and the screams he was powerless to stop. But from these last vestiges of his dream still with him, he knew what he dreamed about.  
  
The prison.   
  
He shuddered violently, though not from the cold. Where was he anyway? Ezra reached around, feeling for a lamp. Instead of a lamp, he brushed someone's arm. The arm recoiled from the innocent touch.  
  
"No . . ." The voice beside him moaned. "Stop, please . . ." It was Julian. The sound of her voice made him realize where he was, and he quickly ascertained how he got here.   
  
"Good one, Standish. Next time you get drunk over a girl, try not to pass out in her bed." he thought, berating himself. He turned his attention to more pressing matters, like the young woman in the chair beside him, her outline taking form as his eyes adjusted.   
  
"Julian." He nudged her, trying to wake her up without scaring her. Ezra saw her twitching movements, knowing somehow that her dreams mirrored his, though from a woefully different perspective. How he wished he could take that pain from her.   
  
"Jules, wake up. It's just a dream."  
  
Julian jerked awake; her mind still in the dark past. "No!" She screamed, throwing Ezra's arm away. She turned and cowered; not yet realizing where she was.  
  
Ezra got up off the bed, fighting the urge to vomit. He was by Julian's trembling side in a moment, taking her into his arms. She fought against his warm embrace for a moment, heartbreakingly, until she calmed, looking up at the figure holding her.   
  
"Ezra!" The cry was more of a whimper than anything else. Julian wrapped her sweat glistened arms around Ezra's neck. Sobs, both fearful and relieved at the same time, wracked her slim form.  
  
"Shh." Ezra hated feeling so useless, but he didn't know what else to say. It wasn't as if he had anything in his repertoire from when he was comforted as a child. So he just held her and rocked her until the tears stopped.  
  
"Ezra?" Julian asked, voice weak from use. She looked up at him from her position on his lap. "Thanks."  
  
Once again, he was speechless. How could he respond? Deep down inside, he still felt responsible for what happened to her all those months ago. He should have done something to stop those men. . . Ezra pushed those thoughts out of his mind; they would do nothing but turn him back to the bottle again.   
  
He stood, taking Julian's smaller body up in his arms. In a set of motions closely akin to those she'd performed hours before, Ezra lay her on the bed and covered her with a blanket. As he turned to leave, Julian's voice stopped him.  
  
"Please don't go." She wasn't sure what she was saying, except that her brain screamed it with all the force it could muster as she saw him begin to leave.   
  
Ezra turned back to her, not able to clearly make out her features in the lack of light. "Jules, I can not stay here. Your reputation is at stake."  
  
Julian snorted. "We both know where my reputation has been drug since yesterday. Besides, since when have I been one to care about the status of my reputation?" She paused as she saw him begin to relent. "Please don't leave me. Not now. I don't think I can stand being alone at the present moment."  
  
It was the straw that broke the camel's back. Ezra sat down in the chair that Julian had occupied. He reached out an arm and caressed her cheek. "Sleep soundly, my dear, I'm not going anywhere."  
  
***  
  
Julian awoke in a strong embrace, momentarily confused by the addition of a warm body in her bed. She turned, remembering as she did so the night's events.  
  
Her night hadn't been as free from dreams as she would have liked. Not too long after she'd finally fallen back asleep, she'd arisen in a cold sweat. Once again, Ezra was at her side, holding her as the nightmare dissipated and reality returned. The difference was, this time, he stayed in the bed with her, holding her as she slept. For the first time in months, she slept soundly.   
  
Apparently, Ezra had fallen asleep as well. She looked on his face, made boyish by the early morning sun. She stroked the back of her hand against his unmarred brow. He was so handsome, she thought.   
  
Then his eyes cracked open. It took a split second, but he registered where he was in remarkable time. Julian felt unaccountably sad when he sat up, looking acutely embarrassed by their situation. He was about to speak when a knock came at the door.  
  
"Julian! Are you in there?" It was Chris. The blood drained from the faces of the two occupants of the room. "Julian?" He knocked again.   
  
Julian looked at her bedmate. At least she didn't have to worry about getting dressed she thought errantly as she ran for the door. With a final glance over her shoulder at the hiding Southerner, Julian ran a quick hand through her tangled hair. She opened the door a crack, careful not to let her brother see into the room.  
  
"Good morning Chris . . ." she started.  
  
"Why aren't you still at the hospital?" His voice was filled with gentle chastising concern. Julian didn't miss the teasing glint in his eye; both of them knowing Chris himself wouldn't have stayed half as long as she had in the clinic.  
  
"It got stuffy." Julian moved slightly out the door, closing a bit more behind her.   
  
"I was worried when you weren't at the clinic." Years of separation from her brother didn't keep Julian from reading the message behind his words - Where were you?  
  
She thought carefully before replying. "I came back to my room." When in doubt, stay as close to the truth as possible. The conversation, now much longer than she would have liked, was beginning to eat at her already thin nerves.  
  
"Who's in there?" Chris asked when a muffled crash came from behind the door.   
  
Julian sputtered, "Just the maid. It's nothing."  
  
But two and two already clicked together in Chris's mind. He shoved Julian aside, forcing the door open. And glowered when he saw Standish struggling to pull his boots on.  
  
"Mr. Larabee, this is not what it appears, we were merely . . ."  
  
"Get the hell out of here before I kill you where you stand." There was no mistaking the tone of Chris's voice. He meant every word he said. Ezra beat a hasty retreat, the warning at his back. "If I ever catch you near her again . . ."   
  
Ezra was out of earshot when Julian laid into her brother. "Why did you do that? He didn't do anything wrong!"  
  
"He took your honor without a shred of decency. He ruined our name, he got you pregnant . . ." Chris fired back.  
  
"Ezra did nothing, Chris! Any besmirching of MY honor is no more fault of his than it is my own." Julian chose to ignore the comment about her pregnancy; it could only cause more pain than it was worth. And, if she were being honest, she still wanted to spare Chris the pain of knowing. But now that he thought it was Ezra . . . ?  
  
"Julian, I will not have him near you."  
  
"I am a grown woman, Chris." She said, emphasizing his name as he'd done with hers. "I can make my own decisions. And right now I decide that I want you to get the hell out of my room."  
  
Chris's eyes clouded with rage, but he did not act upon it. Despite it all, he was a gentleman. Chris would hate it, but he and Ezra were more alike than they realized. Narrowing his eyes at his headstrong sister, he turned and left in a huff.   
  
Julian slammed the door behind her and began to change her rumpled clothes. As soon as she finished here, she would go after Ezra. She couldn't have him thinking she thought the same as her brother.  
  
***  
  
Ezra shoved items into his saddle bags, not really seeing what he was doing. Article after article of expensive clothing he glanced over, grabbing the first things his fingers touched.   
  
He wasn't thinking very clearly at the moment. Yes, he could have gone to the saloon and drunk himself into a stupor again, but then this morning might repeat itself. So, with no more thought than he gave to what he would eat for dinner, Ezra began to pack his bags to leave.   
  
So involved was he in thought and rage, that he did not hear the knock at the door. He was rummaging through his closet when Julian entered wraithlike into the room, and tossed a green jacket on the floor when she spoke.   
  
"You're leaving." It was not a question, but an accusation. The hurt, if Ezra would have dared a glance, was evident in her dark eyes.   
  
"Mr. Larabee seems to find our association indecent, and as I can not let him think ill of you or himself for what occurred, yes, I am leaving." Ezra pulled the thin strap of leather through its fastening.   
  
"Ezra . . ." Julian didn't know what to say. She didn't want him to go, but how to phrase it when she didn't even know why. Ezra turned to look at her. What he saw cleared his mind of the accusations from Chris, and of all the reasons he had for leaving. All he could see was the young woman in front of him.   
  
Julian was a woman who'd been beaten down by life more times than many men he'd known. She had no parents, her only relative in the world was angry with her, she'd been raped, forced to realize that she was pregnant only to miscarry, and now she was here. Pale, weak, looking very much her young age, and looking very much alone. She avoided his gaze when he came to stand near her, arms clasped in front of her stomach submissively. Ezra's heart pained to see it. She was scared, and he'd sworn long ago that she would never be scared again.   
  
"Oh, Jules." He said, and brought her to his chest. She wrapped her arms tightly around his waist, hoping that somehow, she could hold him and stop him from leaving her.   
  
"Ezra please don't go." It was only a whisper, but it cut straight to his heart. No one, in his entire life, had ever asked him to stay. Not his mother, not his friends, no one. How could he say no to her plea?  
  
"Julian, I . . ." Whatever he was going to say was cut off by the sound of gunfire in the street. Immediately the tender moment changed, Ezra springing into action. He pulled his guns from their holsters, and checked to see if they were loaded.  
  
A step into the hall he stopped and turned back toward Julian, still in his room. He discharged the derringer from its spring-action holster. "Take it." He ordered her, glad when she took the sidearm.   
  
With that, Ezra raced down the hall. Behind him, Julian took a few seconds to comprehend what was happening. More shots fired off in the street. It took her less than a second to decide to follow Ezra.  
  
***  
  
"Larabee. You killed my brother." The man, dressed in buckskin chaps and jacket, looked menacing enough from his perch on the bay. He'd fired rounds into the sky, along with his six cohorts.   
  
Chris, leaning nonchalantly against a pole despite the violence, spoke calmly. "Well, I don't know about that. I've killed a lot of people."  
  
"You killed him. I saw you do it." Apparently there would be no arguing with this man. Chris made a gesture, signaling his friends to come from their hiding places. Vin poked up from above the livery, Buck and JD from opposite alleys. Nathan came out of the clinic cocking his pistols, as Josiah exited the saloon doing the same. Seconds later Ezra pushed the batwing doors open and joined them on the dusty afternoon street.   
  
The man glanced around, noting the seven men. Counting on the off chance that he and his men could take them, he began to fire.   
  
All hell broke loose. Men ducked for cover behind barrels and whatever else they could find near them. Shots were exchanged rapidly. Ezra, behind a stack of boxes, felt the blood drain from his face when he saw Julian exit the saloon. He lunged at her as shots went off all around their heads.   
  
"What the hell do you think you're doing here?" Ezra hissed at her after they were back behind the boxes. Julian was speechless, not for the first time that day. She didn't mean to come out during a crossfire. She knew she was lucky to be in one piece.  
  
Ezra's hands began to move over her head, her face, her arms. "Are you hurt?" When she didn't reply. "Are you shot?" He took both arms in his hands, nearly shaking her.   
  
"I'm fine." She was shivering, but she wasn't bleeding. Ezra took a peek up at the fray around them, letting loose with a barrage of bullets as he did so. A man, one of the men in the gang, fell to the ground with a cry. Ezra ducked back down, furiously reloading.   
  
"Oh, I wouldn't do that if I were you." In eerie deja vu, the voice came from behind him. Ezra briefly considered turning and firing at the bearer of the unrecognized voice. Then he looked down at the woman he half covered with his body. A wicked glint in her eye, she lifted a few fingers from her chest. The silver of his derringer gleamed in the sunlight. He smiled at her, before holding his guns in the air and turning slowly.  
  
"Put 'em on the ground." The man motioned with his head. Ezra complied, and the man prepared to fire. Instead he was greeted with another shot, this one sounding from behind Ezra. The man, looking surprised, clutched at his stomach and sunk to the ground. Ezra felt for a pulse.   
  
"He's dead." Ezra said, noticing that the shots on the street seemed to have stopped as well. He turned back to Julian, who was wiping a hand across her sweat glistened brow. "Are you okay?" He asked, helping her to stand up.  
  
She nodded as they walked out into the street where the others stood waiting. Death was in Chris's eyes at seeing Julian's hand clinging to Ezra, but he didn't say a word. It was neither the time nor place.   
  
"Who were they?" JD asked, prying the gun from the lifeless fingers of the nearest gunslinger.   
  
"Said I killed his brother." Chris looked around, counting the fallen bodies, making sure they'd gotten all of them. Nathan and Josiah, at the other end of the street, were dragging one of the men to the jail. "Don't recall who he was." Chris exchanged a quick glance with Buck, asking silently if this could be the brother of one of the men he'd killed after Sarah died. Buck shook his head; he didn't think it was.  
  
Suddenly, one of the men they'd taken for dead sat up, aiming his pistol. The gun, pointed at no one in particular, would hit Julian when discharged. Ezra, seeing this and knowing he could never reach the gun in time, jumped in front of her smaller body as the gun went of. Four shots followed it, fired so closely together as to be nearly indistinguishable; the man would never move again. Nathan and Josiah, nearly to the jail, came running back at the sound.  
  
Julian, stifled under Ezra's body, didn't really understand what was happening. "Ezra?" She touched his shoulder, trying to get him to move. He didn't respond. "Ezra?"   
  
The pressure was lifted as JD and Buck moved Ezra's body off her. "What happened?" She asked frantically. Chris took her forcibly from Ezra's side as Nathan bent down to inspect the gambler. She turned to face her brother. "Chris, what's going on?"  
  
Chris didn't answer her. In all honesty he didn't know, and he didn't want his voice to betray the fact that he didn't care.   
  
"Nathan?" Julian asked , tearing herself out of Chris's grasp. Nathan looked up at the worried face, knowing the news wouldn't be taken well.  
  
"He's not dead, but if I don't stop the bleeding he will be." Nathan turned his attention to the man beside him. "Josiah, help me get him to the clinic."  



	4. Part four

Julian looked down at the pale face of the man on the bed. What had she done to deserve this? Ezra might die and all because of her. He took that bullet for her, she knew that. Her hand rested on her friend's arm.   
  
"Who am I kidding?" She thought. Ezra was more than a friend. He was her best friend, her only friend, and the man she was in love with. Nothing else could explain the warm ache in her stomach every time he walked by. The slightly sick, empty feeling she had when he wasn't around. The all-encompassing terror she felt now that he was lying unconscious on the bed before her. Only awake for a few hours each day, the week spent bedridden had taken its toll on more than just Ezra.  
  
The men, still without identities, were all dead except for one who refused to say a word to anyone. It was certain that he would hang when Judge Travis arrived in a few days. Nathan had forced everyone to get some sleep. Despite their distaste with what they perceived as Ezra's indiscretion, he was one of their own. They'd been just as worried as Julian when they discovered the red stain on his jacket. They wouldn't leave the room without coercion from Nathan. Julian, refusing to leave no matter the circumstances, watched Ezra alone now.   
  
"Good evening, my dear." The Southern accented voice brought her head up and a broad grin to her face.   
  
"Ez!" Julian hugged him fiercely. Ezra recoiled slightly as she nudged his wound. "Oh! I'm sorry. I didn't mean to hurt you. Are you all right? Is there anything I can get you? Do you feel . . ."  
  
Ezra put a weak hand up to silence her. "I'm fine. Nothing a little time can't fix." he chuckled at Julian's embarrassed flush. He also noticed her concern. "I'm fine. Really." He tried to allay her fears. "Especially since I've been awakened to find a beautiful woman caring for me. Definite improvement from the usual."  
  
The pair chuckled at the weak joke. And then for a long moment they sat in silence just looking at each other. Julian finally broke the comfortable pause with a smile and whispered, "Thank you for saving my life."  
  
Ezra shook his head slightly; "It was nothing. As a gentleman . . ."  
  
Julian snorted. "Don't pull that crap with me, Ez. We both know you are no gentleman."   
  
Ezra grinned back at his companion. "Shh, they might find me out." He paused, the moment of kidding quickly replaced when Ezra stared in her eyes. He saw a light in them he hadn't noticed before. He couldn't place it. It wasn't the friendship he'd seen so many times in her eyes, nor the acceptance and understanding he'd come to expect from her. It contained all of these things, yes, but there was something else in there, something he couldn't quite put his finger on . . .  
  
Julian took a breath, afraid to ask him what had been on her mind all these days and nights. "Ezra . . . you will stay now, won't you?"   
  
"Only if you want me to. It appears no one else has any need of me in this town." Ezra flicked his gaze away from hers, hoping for a negation of the comment from her, but not really expecting it.  
  
"Don't say that. You know that we need you here." Julian frowned at him.  
  
"We? But do you?" He wasn't sure what exactly possessed him to ask her that. Just because he was starting to feel something more than friendship toward the woman, didn't mean she did. Especially after all she'd been through. What if she ran now?   
  
But she didn't. Instead, a pleading hopeful look all too apparent in her eyes, she met his gaze. "Yes. I need you. More than anyone I've needed in my entire life."  
  
It wasn't an impassioned speech, nor was it exactly what Ezra hoped for. But it was enough. Ezra sat up on his side, and put out a tentative hand. His arm, his shoulder where he'd been hit, did not bother him amazingly enough. As he cautiously brought her lips to his, Ezra wondered belatedly if he was making a mistake.   
  
Then their lips met and it didn't matter anymore.  
  
***  
  
The light streaming through the not-quite clear glass of the jail, distorted by the heavy layer of dust in the air, cast eerie shadows across the room. The twilight evening outside was slowly giving way to the first nuances of the evening, and people bustled along quickly, trying to get things finished before the darkness fully set upon the quiet town.  
  
Inside the jail, feet propped on the desk and leaning back in his chair, sat a pensive JD, not giving more than a glance to the thin dimestore novel he held open. Something about Bat Masterson graced it's paper cover, bold letters proclaiming his latest impossible feat.  
  
In normal times, this would have kept the young man busy for a while. This same book, had in fact, on at least two previous occasions, saved him from listening to Buck rattle on about a past conquest. Other issues claimes his attention this evening.  
  
"Hey boy! You think I could get some water here?" The raucous in the cell, caused by it's occupant, was getting rather annoying.   
  
"I just gave you water twenty minutes ago." JD was exasperated. Any of the other guys wouldn't get this from the drunk.   
  
JD turned back to his novel and let the disgruntled noise from his companion to fade into the background. It wasn't long before his mind began to wander.   
  
He and Buck were eating in the saloon, a trying conversation due to lack of initiation on Buck's part. The man had been strangely non-forthcoming ever since the confrontation with Vin. Just the day before, Buck was constantly berating the Southerner, calling him names unrepeatable even in the harshest company. And then, with a few well placed words, Vin caused Buck to become the introverted mess he was that morning.  
  
"Sorta like the pot callin' the kettle black, ain't it Buck?"  
  
And it was, JD knew. He was neither prejudiced, nor naive enough to think that what Buck 'busied' himself with at night was any different than what had apparently transpired between the gambler and Chris's sister. Then again, the thought that continued to dog his heels, to his knowledge, Buck had never gotten a girl pregnant.   
  
"Maybe," he thought, a sudden light brightening in his head, "It isn't as much as his relationship with the girl, but the relationship with his father." Or rather, lack of it. Buck's mother had been a working girl; he grew up in a bordello.   
  
"Come on, kid! I'm dyin' of thirst here!"  
  
Thoughts returned to the backburner for now, JD placed his book on the table and headed for the well.  
  
***  
  
"You mind if I join you?"  
  
Chris looked up to see his old friend, bottle in hand, and nodded as he sat on the bench beside him.  
  
"Go right ahead."  
  
Buck handed him the half empty bottle after taking a swig himself. The two traded it back and forth for a few minutes, neither truly willing to breach the subject they both felt hovering between them.  
  
"I was thinking about Illinois today." Buck started, a glint of memory in his eye. Chris, still staring straight ahead out into the night, didn't respond.   
  
Buck plowed ahead, afraid to talk but more afraid to stop talking. "Remember when we'd go fishing? We had that 'spot', right down by . . . "  
  
"The bend in the creek in the south pasture." Chris finished for him, a bit of his sullen mood lifting with the memory.   
  
"Best spot in the whole country." Buck laughed, the whiskey loosening his emotions. "At least to us anyway." He paused. "And Julian."  
  
Chris smiled, stretching his face unfamiliarly after so many days. "And we'd always try to leave her behind."  
  
"But she always managed to tag along."  
  
"And catch more fish than the two of us combined to boot." Chris chuckled. "Although that might have been because we helped her catch 'em, and neglected our own poles." Chris handed Buck the whiskey.  
  
Leaning forward on his knees, Buck continued to reminisce. "Yeah, she was pretty young then. When I first saw her I barely recognized her after all these years. Not too much remains of that little kid."  
  
Chris sobbered for a moment, leaning back against the wall behind him. "No. Not too much. Still smiles the same though."  
  
Silence washed over the pair again, remembering pasts long gone.  
  
"You know," Buck said after a long minute, "I never saw her smile as much as she did when she was with him."   
  
"By 'him' you mean . . ." Chris asked, though he already knew the answer; he'd witnessed as much himself.  
  
"Standish . . . Ezra." Buck swallowed hard. "He didn't leave her. He's still here. Took a bullet for her, Chris. Maybe he didn't know . . ." Buck trailed off, grimacing.  
  
"That he got her pregnant? Buck she's still my, for chrissakes, our baby sister. He still is responsible for what he . . ." the aggression in his voice, dulled by the liquor was returning.  
  
"That's just it Chris. I've been thinking, and as much as I don't like to admit it, it's as much her fault as it is his. She's not a baby anymore Chris." Buck sighed; there, he'd said what he'd set out to say.  
  
Chris turned to him, ferocity in his eyes. "No, she's not a baby. But she isn't old enough to be cavorting with a man she barely knows. They weren't . . . Aren't married. He had no business . . ."  
  
Buck put an arm out, touching his friend on the shoulder, "I agree with you, believe me. I didn't want what happened to happen any more than you did. But it's done. We can't do anything to stop it . . ."  
  
Chris shoved the arm off, standing. "You might be able to let Standish get away with this, but Julian isn't your flesh and blood . . ."  
  
"Might as well be my sister, you said it yourself, Chris . . ." But Chris was already stalking down the street, toward the clinic where Ezra lay. Buck chased after him, stopping him.  
  
"Chris, listen to me." Buck stepped in front of the gunslinger, staring him in the eyes. "Nothing they did was any different than what we've done countless times before."  
  
"She's not a man . . ." A weak defense, and Larabee knew it, but there was little else he could say.  
  
"And what would she say about that?"   
  
It was enough to stop Chris. The rage dissolved in his body, the tension visibly seeping from his body. Chris pulled his attention from Buck, glancing at the door to the clinic. The clinic where his baby sister sat worrying over the comatose body of Standish. Worrying . . .  
  
Chris turned back to his friend, coming suddenly to a decision. "Saloon. You're buyin'."   
  
He'e leave Standish alone for now, for Julian's sake. But once he woke up, Chris made no promises.  
  
***  
  
Exchanging greetings with Chris and Buck on their way in, Nathan stepped out into the early night air. He breathed the deeply, glad to be out of the smoke filled, over crowded space. He enjoyed the company he kept in the place, but sometimes the atmosphere reminded him far too much of his past.   
  
Walking slowly down the street, he wondered if he should check on Ezra. Seeing the light in the window, he knew Julian was still waiting with him. Just as he was opening the door, he stopped, hearing voices within.  
  
" . . . was so worried for you." The light timber of the voice identified Julian as the speaker. "I thought you weren't going to . . ."  
  
Ezra interjected gently, "That doesn't matter anymore. I'm here now."  
  
"Just don't go jumping in front of bullets anymore, 'kay Ez?"  
  
A chuckle sounded in the room, soon curiously silenced. Smiling to himself, Nathan started back toward the saloon. It was never too crowded in there, and he had a feeling that he didn't need to check on Ezra for a while.   
  
***  
  
Morning broke over the small town, only to find it already awake and hard at work. Mr. Potter stood outside his shop, sweeping the walk. Across the way, at the livery, a young boy carried a bale of hay. A horse and rider, appearing long on the trail, made their way down the dusty street. The man tipped his sombrero at a young woman dressed in rumpled, dark blue calico. With a slight inclination of her head, she returned the gesture as he passed.  
  
Julian walked with purpose that morning, trying to smooth the wrinkles from her dress. Awakened twenty minutes ago by Nathan, Ezra wanted her to ask Chris to come speak with him.   
  
"Last time I'll ever sleep in my clothes." She thought, not without a touch of humor, as she tugged on her sleeves. Pushing open the doors to the to the saloon, scanning its patrons for her brother. She spied him far in the back, pushing a fork around on his plate. Noting the empty shot glass next to his coffee cup, Julian could only surmise what happened to its contents.  
  
"Typical Chris." Julian thought as she sat down beside her brother.  
  
"Morning." She wasn't sure what to say to her brother; so few civilities had been exchanged between them the past week. "Ezra wanted . . ."  
  
Chris looked up, "He's awake then?" A conspiracy it seemed, existed between his sister and Nathan. Ezra never seemed to be awake when Chris was around.  
  
"Yes, and . . ." Julian didn't finish as Chris stood, pushing the chair out behind him and rushed from the saloon.   
  
"Chris, wait!" She could have handled that a little better, she thought chasing after her brother.  
  
Those out in the street first noticed the commotion when Larabee came running from the saloon, heading obviously for the clinic. The addition of his sister racing after him, his name on her lips, only served to heighten the drama of the situation. Everyone in town waited patiently for the confrontation between Larabee and Standish. It appeared that, finally, they would get their wish.  
  
Ezra looked calmly at his leader when he burst throught the door. "Good morning, Mr. Larabee. I was just coming to see you. We have much to discuss. . ."  
  
"You're damn straight we have much to discuss." Chris towered over the smaller man seated on the bed, though his anger was less apparent. The unthinking rage which had consumed him a week before, simmered below the surface, quelled by time and Buck's comments.  
  
"Now, Chris. Ezra don't need no . . ." Nathan began, ready to force Larabee to leave if need be.  
  
"Don't worry, Nathan. I plan to handle this like a perfect gentleman."   
  
Julian burst through the door just then. "Chris . . .!" She surveyed the room, mildly suprised to find Ezra still concious and no blood scattered on the floor.  
  
"Ah, good to see you again, my dear." Ezra smiled at her, a look her brother did not miss, but chose not to comment on. But when she moved to sit beside him, Chris spoke.  
  
"Don't lay a hand on her." The venom in his voice was back. With a nod from Ezra, she chose to stand instead.  
  
The scene, as it appeared to Nathan, was entirely too calm. He, like Julian, expected bloodshed at the very least. But there stood Chris, calm as could be, with little emotion on his face. What gave his fury away rested in the blue storm clouds of his eyes. No one spoke, the quiet weighing heavily on all of them. Each breath could be heard, shouts from the street filtered into the room through thin walls. Tension, thick and dense, bound the gazes of Ezra and Chris. Julian, eyes darting between her brother and her friend, finally spoke, trying to dilute the disquiet between them.  
  
"Chris, it's okay. We just wanted to talk to you."   
  
Her brother's scrutiny turned to her, making her feel decidedly uncomfortable. "So talk. You got about a minute before I tell him to get the hell out of town and never return."  
  
Julian swallowed, returning the tight smile Nathan gave her as he left the room, leaving the trio in privacy. They'd come to this decision this morning, Nathan, Ezra, and her. It was now up to her to fufill it.   
  
"I . . . we . . . I should start at the beginning." Julian stammered, still unsure of herself. She looked over to Ezra, gratefully gaining strength from the green depths of his eyes. Love shone there, loyalty, and the certainty that he would never abandon her. Renewed courage flowed through her, and she started again.  
  
"When I first came out here, I was kidnapped. Ezra, somehow, ended up confined in those dank quarters with me. And then you, and the others, managed to save us. You already knew all that."  
  
Chris nodded, not without apprehension. He sensed the revelation she was about to bestow upon him would alter a great many things. He was almost sorry when she continued speaking, curious to know what happened, but overwhelmed with a deep sense of foreboding.   
  
"When I was there, I . . . Those men that held us, they . . ." She breathed deep, feeling her stomach twist, and fought the urge to vomit. "They raped me, Chris. They raped me, beat the hell out of Ezra, and laughed while we bled." Julian had long since adverted her eyes, staring with shame at the designs in the wood of the floor. Afraid to look up, the silence that ensued was deafening.  
  
Chris was stunned from action. When he came over here, the visions in his head contained violence against the Southerner, instead they now recalled the faces of the same men she spoke of, as they swung from ropes on the gallows. It seemed a lifetime ago, but was in reality, only a month or two. If they weren't already dead, Chris would kill them for this. He had, in fact, half a mind to go dig up their corpses and kick the shit out of what was left.   
  
Raped. His baby sister was violated in the worst possible manner. The fear, the pain she must have felt . . . Oh God, Chris suddenly realized what else she was saying. Ezra never touched her, not that way. All that time she was with him, it was for comfort. Ezra didn't father the child she miscarried, one of her rapists did. Chris closed his eyes, fighting the tears that threatened. All along, he thought Ezra had . . . All along he'd been protecting her . . . How could either one ever forgive him.  
  
Chris looked to the bed where Ezra still sat, meeting his eyes this time without the pure discust he'd felt for so long. Ezra's eyes flicked to Julian, urging Chris to go to her, where she stood close to tears. The older man walked over to his sister, touching her hesitantly at first, not knowing how, or if, he could touch her.  
  
A single tear trailed down her cheek as Chris took her in his arms.   
  
"Oh, Julie, I'm so sorry." He whispered, and rocked her in his arms. Chris kissed the top of her head, a brotherly gesture that made the girl in his arms sob. She thought he'd never love her again, especially if he ever knew . . .  
  
Chris moved back when he felt Julian relax, and was sure that he was once more able to speak. "I'm sorry I wasn't there for you, kid. If they weren't dead . . ."  
  
"But they are. There's nothing that can be done." She moved past her brother and sat down next to Ezra. This time, Chris was silent. Julian slipped her hand into Ezra's larger one. "And there's something else I . . ." She exchanged a quick smile with the gambler. "We need to tell you."  
  
Once again, the precognitive sense filled Chris. But this time the feeling did not contain trepidation. It wasn't joy, not exactly. But neither was it the dread he'd felt minutes before.  
  
"Mr. Larabee, with your permission, I would like your sister's hand in marriage." Ezra held his breath as he watched Larabee's face. The grim set of his mouth made him think twice about his earlier decision to ask this at the same time he found out what happened to his sister. But Julian had insisted that if she was going to tell him one thing, she had to tell him the other. No more lies. And Ezra agreed. And was currently wishing that he hadn't, the look on Chris's face better than his own poker face.  
  
And then, miraculously, Chris sighed, blinked, and rubbed his hand across his forehead.  
  
"You know Ezra," Chris began, finally using the younger man's first name to address him. "A half hour ago, I would have killed you for less." Then he laughed, a short, curt sound. "But it looks like I have no other choice than to agree."  
  
And when he saw the smile of joy that spread across his sister's face, fitting incongruously on her tear streaked cheeks, and the nod of gratitude from his future brother in law, Chris knew he'd made the right choice by giving his blessing. 


	5. Epilogue

  
" . . . will you take Julian Marie Larabee to be your lawful wife, will you love her, honor and keep her in sickness and in health and, forsaking all others, keep only unto her so long as you both shall live?"  
  
Ezra turned and smiled, holding the gaze of the blushing woman beside him. " I will."  
  
Josiah spoke again. "And will you, Julian, take Ezra P. Standish, will you love him, honor and keep him in sickness and in health and, forsaking all others, keep only unto her so long as you both shall live?"  
  
Julian smiled back. "I will."  
  
Josiah, asking for the rings, was astounded by the change in the couple before him. When he first met Ezra he was sure the man would never last the week with the men. His first impression of Julian was a scared, unsure, skittish young woman. And now here they stood, slipping rings on the others hand, changed completely.   
  
The change in Chris was astounding as well, Josiah mused. Aloud, he pronounced them man and wife. Whatever happened that day in the clinic, no one was talking. Chris went in intent on murder, and exited announcing his sister's marriage. Many of the townspeople, most of whom were present in the church at the moment, felt there was coercion involved on the part of Larabee; he'd forced Ezra to marry his siter or leave town. Josiah and the others knew differently though. Coercion would not make Ezra stare that way at his future, indeed new, bride. Coercion would not make Julian blush the way she did as Ezra's lips touched her own, a chaste kiss causing applause in the crowded church. Coercion would not make Chris look so forlorn as he walked his sister down the narrow aisle, his black outfit a clear and utter contrast to Julian's pure white. Josiah smiled as the couple turned to exit the church.   
  
No, Josiah knew, Ezra would never have to be forced to marry that girl. It was love, pure and simple. And after everything they'd been through, Josiah wished them the best.  
  
Stepping from his place at the front of the room, Josiah followed his friend outside.  
  
  
The End 


End file.
